Four hundred miles from Moscow, Beresina's the river's nameI'm longing for some warmness, scarlet cold runs in my veinsEach step's a dance with darkness on the edge of the icy jawI've seen my comrades falling killed by the winter desert's lawEvery yard one victim, every inch is soaked with bloodThrough the endless frozen landLeaving back the Moscow brandFrozen land--flaming brand, will this nightmare never end?Russia's on fireWe've came to see our banner flying over the eastern crownBut there was no surrender, no one laid the sabre downTaking up our quarters they set fire to the townThrough the endless . . .Will I stand the torture, hunger, cannon balls and coldThrough the endless . . .